


Home For The Weekend

by killjoy_assbutt



Series: killjoy_assbutt's oneshots [10]
Category: Henry Cavill - Fandom, Night Hunter (2018), Nomis - Fandom
Genre: Cuddling, F/M, Falling Asleep While Watching A Movie, Very fluffy, exhausted bear, fluffy fluff, idk what to add?, ordering take out, very domestic fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28901076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killjoy_assbutt/pseuds/killjoy_assbutt
Summary: Summary: after finally closing the case he’s been working on for weeks, Walter comes home to his equally exhausted wife. They decide to spend the weekend on the couch, cuddled up together and eating takeout.Pairing: Walter Marshall x teacher! ReaderWarning: nothing really, fluff, tiiiny bit of angst if you squint maybe, implied nudity? (Walter takes a shower), also worth a warning that i’ve been pretty writer-blocked the last few months and am still not completely rid of it… also not beta’d all typos are mine, aaalso this is my first time writing for Walter and this is completely based on the very few soft moments we saw of him, especially his last sceneNot your thing? Don’t read it.Leave kudos and a comment if you liked it❤️ Writers live off validation💕 Enjoy💗
Relationships: Walter Marshall (Night Hunter)/ Reader, Walter Marshall (Night Hunter)/You
Series: killjoy_assbutt's oneshots [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2051982
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Home For The Weekend

_Ugh, finally home_ , you think to yourself as you close the door behind you, slumping against it while you toe off your shoes and drop your purse. Shrugging off your coat, you walk over to the couch, eyeing it longingly before tossing your coat over the backrest and shuffling over to the kitchen, getting yourself a glass of water, eagerly gulping it down to wash away the stale taste of coffee from the school’s old machine. After setting the glass back down on the counter, you slowly make your way to the bedroom, finally allowing yourself to sit down and pause. 

Two minutes, then you get up and look for some comfortable clothes you’d wear the entire weekend. But you don’t look in your closet. Oh no, you open the door to Walter’s and pull out a random sweater, tossing it onto the bed along with your yoga pants you carelessly discarded of yesterday. Yawning, you quickly change and just when you’re ready to fall onto your bed again, you hear your phone ringing… from inside your purse, still by the front door.

Groaning, you rush to answer it, but your mood brightens immediately when you see the caller ID.

“Hey, babe,” you squeal, plopping down on the couch.

You’re met with a chuckle on the other end of the line. “ _Hi, baby. Are you home already_?”

“Uh-huh, just got here few minutes ago. What’s up? What’s so important that it couldn’t wait until you come home tonight?” you ask teasingly.

“ _Well, I’m on my way home right now_ ,” Walter chuckles. Someone’s in a good mood, apparently. “ _Hey, did you, uh, have any plans for dinner today_?”

“Nope, and I’m not going to cook. Work was a lot today, all I wanna do is curl up on the couch.”

“ _So take out it is_?” you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Definitely. And now get off the phone, Detective Marshall, before I call the cops on you.”

“ _Good thing you’re already talking to the cops, Mrs. Marshall. I’ll see you at home, baby. Love you_.”

“Love you too. Hurry up.”

With that, the line goes dead, leaving you to listen out for the deep rumble of his truck. The drive home from the station should take him about 15 minutes, if traffic allowed it. So you’d have to wait a bit. During that time, you had to force yourself not to go wandering around the house looking for food or falling asleep on the couch, exhaustion from the day paired with near to no time to eat while trying to discipline a bunch of seven-graders begging you to do both things at once. So, you preoccupy yourself with grading the last few remaining essays your students kept you from looking over in class.

The moment you hear Walter’s truck pull up in the driveway, you practically skip to the door with excitement, leaving your work spread out on the coffee table. All that matters right now is that your husband is home, and that not just for sleeping a couple hours before going back to the station. You rip the door open and throw your arms around his neck, holding him tightly until he hugs back. Still, he grumbles. _As a homicide detective’s wife you should know better than opening the door without checking who’s there!_

“This was dangerous. I could have been whoever. How many times do I have to te-?”

“I missed you, baby,” you mumble against his neck, cutting him off and pulling back to quickly peck his lips, stopping him from saying anything further. “Now come on, it’s cold.”

With you still in his arms, he takes step after step inside, making you walk backwards with him, until he can kick the door shut with his heel. Only then, he lets go of you to take off his jacket and shoes. You watch him, leaning against the wall.

“So…” you draw out the word, “This is more than just a few hours stay?”

“I’m done with the case,” Walter smiles at you, handing his heavy jacket to the rack, “You’ll have me for the whole weekend. C’mon.”

He takes your hand and goes into the living room. At one point, you let go to take a short trip over to the kitchen, getting your tired husband a glass of water as he slumps down on the couch.

“Thanks, baby,” he hums when you hand it to him. You just nod and sit next to him, squishing into his side.

“If I remember correctly you said something about takeout?” you smile, pulling out your phone.

“I did? I don’t remember,” Walter chuckles, setting down the glass in midst all your papers.

“You sure did. So, what will it be? Pizza? Burger? Tacos? Or maybe Chinese?”

“I don’t care, really, baby. You pick, I’ll go have a shower,” Walter groans, standing, lightly squeezing your knee as he gets up.

“Okay, Chinese it is,” you grin, turning on the couch to watch your husband rid of his gear. You’ve seen him do it many many times before, but something about him putting his gun, badge and handcuffs onto the kitchen counter always amazes you. But it’s the same every time: before you can figure out what exactly it is that makes you love that little ordinary thing he does, the moment is gone and Walter is already on his way to the bathroom.

Deciding not to dwell, your rumbling stomach making itself known, you open the site of your favorite Chinese place. You add your usual to the cart and then stare at the menu, your mind blank.

“Babe, what do you want?” you call over the running water when you peek your head into the bathroom.

“Where’re you ordering?” Walter calls back.

“Usual.”

“Alright. Uh… the broccoli beef, fried rice.”

“Mhmhh,” you hum, adding his order, “Anything else? Spring rolls or soup? Or both?”

“Whatever you want, baby.”

“Okay,” you call, adding some mini spring rolls and spicy chicken noodle soup to the cart.

Stepping out of the bathroom, you finish up your order and then go into the bedroom, getting out some comfy clothes for Walter to wear once he’s done showering. Settling on a tee and some sweatpants, you leave them on the toilet and throw his old clothes into the hamper. After that, you go to clean off the coffee table, sorting your papers and putting them back into the folder – to be corrected another time – and start laying the table. A little bit later, Walter comes out of the bathroom, fully dressed; his curls still damp, leaving little droplets on his tee. He joins you on the couch, pulling you onto his lap.

“I missed you, baby,” he mumbles into your neck before softly kissing the skin, his beard tickling, making you squirm in his arms and turn a little to face him.

“I missed you, too,” you breathe back and lean in to kiss him properly for the first time in days. The two of you practically melt into each other as your lips and tongues dance, time seeming to fall away.

The more you get lost, the more the doorbell startles you, indicating your food has arrived. Gently, Walter pushes you off his lap and gets up. While he’s busy paying and taking the food, you go over to the kitchen and pour each of you a glass of wine. As soon as the two of you are back on the couch, the feasting begins. You chat about your day, well, mostly you telling Walter about your day while he smiles and nods at everything you say. You chat about your plans for the weekend and come to the conclusion you’ll spend it holed up on the couch, watching TV. While you’re immersed telling Walter about how a colleague dumped all the organization for an upcoming field trip on you, your husband takes his chance to steal a spring roll off your plate. You stop mid-sentence.

“What?” you laugh and reach your chopsticks to steal a piece of broccoli of Walter’s plate, but he catches your wrist, giving you a playful smirk. “Hey! Not fair,” you huff.

“Is it?” Walter lets go of your wrist, picks up the chunk of broccoli you had been out for and brings it to your face. Rolling your eyes, you open your mouth, allowing him to drop it on your tongue. You continue eating, stealing or feeding each other bits of food here and there. When you’re done, you load everything in the dishwasher while Walter takes out the trash. After that you settle back on the couch, cuddled together, wrapped in a blanket, each of you equipped with a filled up glass of wine.

Walter turns on the TV and picks out a movie, holding you a little tighter , making you snuggle closer to his side. You rest your head on his shoulder and within the first 20 minutes of the movie, you’re fast asleep. Walter chuckles quietly at you, turns off the TV and carries you over into bed. He lies you down and climbs in behind you, holding you close with his nose buried in your hair.

Oh, how he had missed your scent that past week. He swears to himself he’d try to work regular hours, so he could spend more time with you. As he always does on Friday night. And every week again he’s faced with the reality that it just doesn’t work out. But this time he’d do it. For you. Even if it was just to watch you grade papers. Even if it was just to hear you chuckle at some mistake one of your students made. He’d try to be there for you. No, he will be there for you. Because you do the same for him, doing most work at school so you could spend the little time you had together completely focused on each other.

With one of his arms beneath your head, the other wrapped tightly around your middle, he pulls you close against his chest, and soon falls asleep to the feel of your small, warm body in his arms, the even rise and fall of your chest and the quiet sighs that leave your lips, letting him know you’re dreaming.


End file.
